Crown of Oblivion

by Julie Eshbaugh

  “I don’t think so,” Marlon answers, but that doesn’t help me much. I’d like to know if I’m walking into a trap. But I feel only one person, a person full of fear mingled with hope, and my stomach flips at the thought that Marlon’s put his hopes in me.

  A rumble comes from above—either another blast or part of the building collapsing—but it’s muffled all the way down here. Still, Marlon gasps in response, and I realize I’m just a few feet away from him now.

  “Marlon, keep talking so I can find you,” I say.

  “Keep talking so I can find you,” he repeats. I take a few shuffling steps. “Keep talking so I can find you,” he says again, and he’s right in front of me now. I reach for him, but my hands smack against a wall of bars.

  Blindly, I work the keys in my hand, counting them. Four keys in all. I have four chances for one to fit.

  “Do you know where the lock is?” I ask, running my hands over the bars.

  “They had a battery light when they brought me here. I saw the lock just for a moment before they walked out.” I feel his hands pass over mine as he searches. “It’s here.”

  “Did you see them?” I ask, once I’ve found the lock. “Was the prince with them?”

  I try the first key. It doesn’t fit. “I don’t think so,” Marlon says.

  I’d hoped for a yes. Not just because I hate Lars, but because I’d hoped the right keys were in his pocket.

  I try the second key. It seems to fit, but it doesn’t turn.

  But even if Lars wasn’t here, he might be holding the key. He might even have his own. He likes to feel like he’s in control.

  I try the third key. Not a fit.

  I try the fourth and final key. It’s thick and oddly shaped, and it doesn’t even slide partway into the keyhole.

  I’ve tried each of the keys, and none of them works.

  There’s another rumble, and the ground shakes beneath my feet. My heart races. Dust falls on my head from the blackness above me. If these lower levels start folding in on themselves, we’ll never get out of here.

  I work the keys through my fingers again. This can’t be the end. After all we’ve gone through, all we’ve overcome, this dungeon can’t be our grave.

  I run my fingers over each key again, until I think I’ve found the second key—the one that fit but wouldn’t turn. After one false try, I slide it into the lock, but it still won’t turn. I rattle the door, slide the key in and out again, jiggle it in the lock.

  And it turns.

  “Marlon! It’s open,” I say, as the door swings toward me. I can’t see him, but I feel his arms go around me, just the briefest of hugs.

  Going back through the dark is easier. There’s a hint of light coming from the stairwell, so we make our way toward it. We climb, and as we rise through the corkscrew, the world around us grows louder and smokier, until we reach the ground, where we’re surrounded by flame and moonlight.

  What’s left of the palace is empty, except for two people. Prince Lars, waiting for us. And Sir Millicent, trying to drag him away.

  “I told you they would come,” he says to her when he sees me and Marlon. “She took my keys. And now I’m going to take them back.”

  “You don’t want to fight me again, Lars. I knocked you out before and I’ll knock you out again.”

  “I was never out,” he says over the roar of the flame that’s running up the walls. “I felt you go for those keys in my pants. It was quite enjoyable,” he sneers. Even now, even with the palace in ruins, he still mocks me.

  “Lars!” calls Millicent. She’s got him by the hand, trying to drag him, but his eyes are latched onto mine. “We need to get out of here now!”

  I bend to Marlon’s ear. “Run,” I whisper.

  It takes him a moment to process what I’ve said, but then he takes off for an opening in a collapsed wall where moonlight streams in. Now I can face Lars alone. But he surprises me. He leaves me and chases down Marlon. He drops on him and forces him to the floor at the foot of one of the few columns still standing, only a few feet short of freedom.

  The column may still be standing, but the ceiling it was holding aloft is all but gone. And maybe it’s from the force of the impact just beside it, or maybe it would have happened anyway, but at the moment Lars and Marlon fall, the column does, too.

  By the time Millicent and I reach them, they are slick with blood, though I can’t tell which of them it’s coming from. Maybe both. Without even talking about what needs to be done, I wrap my arms around one end of the column and Millicent wraps hers around the other, and we lift.

  Marlon rolls out from beneath it. He moves quickly—maybe the blood isn’t his.

  Lars doesn’t stir.

  Millicent and I set the column down beside them, but she can’t wake Lars. Marlon tries to get to his feet, but he winces and goes down. “Don’t try. I’ll carry you,” I say.

  Standing over him, I look down into Lars’s moonlit face. Millicent shakes him but gets no response. I bend lower, touching his throat, his wrist.

  Nothing.

  “Leave him,” I say to Millicent. “He’s dead.”

  “No!” she wails. I’m startled. I never imagined she had feelings for the prince. But I don’t have time to argue with her. She’s made her own choice. I throw Marlon over my shoulder and hurry to get clear before what’s left of the palace comes down.

  I run until I reach the palace wall. The hedges are burning and flames shoot from the palace roof, but out here, the air is cool on my face. So cool, I shiver. I lay Marlon down on the grass and sag against him. He’s looking around at the commotion, and I feel his fear again. “Where are we?”

  “We’re safe. That’s where we are,” I say. “We’re safe.”

  “We’re safe,” he echoes.

  In the distance, backlit against the flames, I see the silhouettes of people still swarming around the palace. Some are huddling on the lawn, some are standing. Some are running back and forth, and I can tell, those are the people looking for loved ones.

  I don’t know where Darius and Renya are, and the thought of them lying somewhere injured and in need of my help makes it hard to stay where I am. I need to look for them, to let them know I made it out and so did Marlon, and to make sure they did, too. But I can’t leave Marlon here alone. Not yet. As soon as he’s a little stronger, as soon as he’s breathing normally instead of panting, I’ll go look for them.

  I drink in the sight of his face, so happy to have him back. The one who was brave enough to enter the race. The one who solved the riddle of the final clue for me, and whose Pontium bridge convinced Jayden to help me make it through the Wilds.

  Because of him I entered the race, and because of him I won.

  “Marlon,” I say, but he doesn’t answer me. He just lies nestled against me, like he did when he was little. “I’m sorry I entered the race without telling you,” I say. “If I had told you, all of this could’ve been avoided because you never would’ve entered the race yourself.”

  “It’s all right. I know why you didn’t . . .” He trails off. His eyes flutter and then he grimaces in pain. Slumping forward, his chin falls to his chest.

  Something is wrong with Marlon.

  I run my hand over the back of his head, and it comes away bathed in blood. “Marlon?” I say, but again, he doesn’t answer.

  I need a medic. I need a medic now.

  But looking out into the tumult as the palace burns, I don’t know how I would find one, even if I were willing to move Marlon, which I’m not.

  I need to find the princess. If anyone can bring a medic to Marlon, it’s her.

  I leave Marlon curled on the grass and stand, bolt upright, following my instincts. . . . The only thing I can trust in this moment. If it doesn’t work, I’ll have to find another way, but somehow, I think it will work. I have such strong Cientia, I’ve learned to use Projectura, and my own brother has Pontium. Isn’t it possible that I have it, too?

  I raise my h
ands, plant my feet firmly on the ground, and try to summon the magic in my veins. I’ve heard that Pontium is fueled by a spark that binds people connected by love. Do Renya and I have that connection? Do Darius and I? I can only try, to dig deep into my cells for that spark.

  I hold my hands a few feet apart, let my eyes fall closed, and breathe deep, sending my breath up my arms to my open palms. Nothing. I breathe in and out, imagining my blood burning along my veins, carrying energy to my fingertips.

  Still nothing. I’m failing.

  But when I try to drop my hands, my arms stay rigid. A weak pulse spirals out from the center of my chest, like ripples moving away from a stone dropped into a lake. My hands hum like plucked wires, carrying a signal along an invisible line. The darkness around me thickens, but then a spark lights in the space between my palms. The spark grows, brightens, reaches around me like a glowing lasso until it engulfs a space beyond the place where I stand.

  In front of me, a boy appears. It’s Darius. He looks up from the place where he lies on the ground. A woman is bent over him, tying a bandage onto his arm. Renya hovers over them both.

  “Astrid,” Darius says. “Can you see us? Where are you?”

  “I’m at the edge of the south lawn, beside the palace wall. It’s Marlon! I need a medic—”

  Before I can say another word, the bridge collapses all at once, and I’m jolted against the wall. I fall back so hard, I stumble to the ground beside Marlon.

  “Hang on,” I whisper to him.

  To my surprise, his eyes flutter open. “Stay with me,” he says.

  “I’ll stay with you. Of course I will.” I look up. People are already sprinting toward us. A medic carrying a stretcher. Behind her, several others. Even in silhouette, I can see that one is Darius and one is Renya. “Here comes help,” I say. “The princess is bringing help for you.”

  Marlon turns his head and stares across the dark lawn. His eyes fix on the approaching knot of people. The skirt of Renya’s tattered gown ripples around her ankles as she runs.

  Marlon watches as they all come closer. “Stay with me,” he says again. He’s shivering, so I draw him up against me, until his hair is tucked under my chin.

  “I won’t leave you,” I say. “I won the Crown of Oblivion. We’re both citizens now. We’re safe. No one will hurt either of us again.”

  “No one will hurt either of us again,” he repeats, and when I hear my own words, I realize how big a promise I’ve made. So be it. No matter what I must do, no matter what sacrifices I must make, I will keep that promise.

  The medic reaches us, then bends down and holds a battery light to check the place where blood oozes from a gash on the back of Marlon’s head. “It’s gonna need stitches, all right,” she says, in an accent that reminds me of Jane’s in the race. I tighten my grip on Marlon. “I’ll just put on a temporary bandage to hold him during transport,” she says. My arms encircle Marlon, keeping him warm and still, while this medic—this Enchanted medic—wraps his head in gauze. “When we get him to the hospital, they may run more tests, just to be sure there’s nothing else he needs.”

  The hospital. The Citizens Hospital. Where my brother will get the best care. Because we’re citizens now.

  I look up to see both the princess and Darius standing over me. Both of them scowl, their faces dark with concern, and the princess drops down to sit beside me. “Lars is missing,” she whispers into my ear. “They’re searching the debris. They think he may have been killed as the roof collapsed.”

  I nod. I know the prince is dead, but I keep this to myself. I don’t want to talk about Lars. If things had gone differently, I could’ve been the one lying back there in the rubble, or even Marlon. No. I won’t talk about Lars. Starting now, I’m shrugging off the dark shadow he’s cast over my life.

  Someone squats down across from me, beside the medic. It’s Darius. “The last time I saw you, you were wearing a crown,” he says, with a sad smile.

  “I lost it,” I say.

  “Me too,” he answers.

  But it doesn’t matter. Because now the medic is taking Marlon from my arms, and Darius is helping to place him on the stretcher. Marlon reaches for me, and I ask the medic if I can accompany him to the hospital.

  “Of course,” she says. “You should be checked out, too.”

  My eyes meet Darius’s. Beyond his shoulder, the palace is a mass of flame and shadow. “It may still be found in the rubble, but even without that mirrored trinket, you still have the crown,” he whispers. “No one can ever take it from you.”

  He slides an arm around me, supporting me as I get to my feet. He stays right beside me, his warm hand wrapped around my cold one, as we follow the medics across the grass.

  One last time, I glance at the palace. You’ve escaped that awful house. That’s what Jayden had said, and now it’s really true.

  I think of my crown, shattered and filthy in the wreckage. It breaks my heart a bit. I fought so hard to win it.

  Still, I know that what Darius says is true. The Crown of Oblivion, and everything it stands for, can never be taken from me.

  I know the crown is mine.

  Acknowledgments

  Writing a book is sometimes like creating a painting—you start out with a blank canvas and add to it until it’s complete. Writing Crown of Oblivion was more like creating a sculpture—I started out with a big misshapen block and had to cut away to uncover the book inside. It wasn’t easy, and there were times I thought I had chiseled the book free, only to find that there was still a better book buried inside.

  Thank you to my editor, Alexandra Cooper, who has an incredible talent for seeing the true book buried under all the rough stone. You have such a powerful instinct for uncovering the essence of the story and leading me to it. If you ever doubt the truth of that praise, just pull out the first draft of this book and you’ll have all the proof you need! I am so grateful to have had the benefit of your talents on this book.

  Josh Adams, I am also grateful for everything you have done that has led me here. Before we met, I never thought I’d be writing the acknowledgments for my first published book, let alone my third. Your guidance and advice have been priceless, and I am so proud and thankful that you are my agent.

  To the team at HarperCollins: thank you, Rosemary Brosnan, Alyssa Miele, Jessica Berg, Joel Tippie, Shannon Cox, and Kadeen Griffiths. Thank you to Tracey Adams at Adams Literary. I also want to thank artist Jason Chan for capturing Astrid so vividly in the cover illustration.

  I have a lot of writer friends to thank! Amie Kaufman, thank you for your friendship and guidance. Thank you, Meghan Rogers, for all the encouragement and support you bring to our lunch dates! Jodi Meadows, Luke Taylor, Stephanie Garber, and Sarah J. Maas, thank you for all the positive energy, wise words, and commiseration. You all have helped me so much.

  To my early readers, Kat Zhang and Jennifer Kelly, thank you for taking the time to read critically and help me see what was working and what was not. Your input really made a difference. Thank you also to Deborah Hawkins and the other readers who read for sensitivity and authenticity. Your advice helped make this a better book.

  I want to thank all the contributors to PublishingCrawl.com as well as the readers of that wonderful blog. Your encouragement means so much to me. Thank you to all the other book bloggers who support me and my writing, especially Bonnie Wagner, Kelly Nagy, Amanda Webb, Irene Justice, Mishma Nixon, and Sabrina Simmonds. Sarah Kershaw, thank you for your design and marketing help. Thanks also to the teachers, conference coordinators, booksellers, and librarians who have helped readers discover my books, especially Sara Huff at the William Jeanes Memorial Library.

  Thank you to all my friends who remind me that I can reach my goals, especially my church family. To the amazing high school Sunday school class, you guys are the best! You have no idea how much you all inspire me.

  I have a wonderful family, and this book would have fallen apart without their love and support. Than
k you to my sister Lori, who has been there to make the other parts of my life easier so I could get my writing done. Thank you to my father. Your love has always lifted me up. To my son, Dylan, thanks for your encouragement, for being an example of hard work and persistence, and for making me laugh. To Mia Bergstrom, thank you for bringing so much girl power to our family. And I can’t forget my fur babies, Nashville and Jeepster.

  To my husband, Gary, thanks for getting me through another manuscript. You are my heart, and you bring joy to every day of my life. For all the laughter, all the encouragement, all the reminders of the things worth remembering, thank you.

  Thank you, God, for so many miracles and blessings, especially for all the people listed here.

  And to the readers who cared enough to read to the last word of these acknowledgements, you are the reason writers write. Thank you so much!

  About the Author

  Photo by Sub/Urban Photography

  JULIE ESHBAUGH now lives in Philadelphia after having called Utah, France, and New York City home. Early on, Julie focused her artistic energies on filmmaking and online video. She made two short films and then spent several years producing an online video series for teens that received several honors from the Webby Awards. Creating videos for teens led to writing novels for teens—Ivory and Bone, her first, followed by the sequel, Obsidian and Stars—and Julie has never looked back. You can learn more about Julie’s writing escapades (with the online group Publishing Crawl) by visiting www.julieeshbaugh.com.

  Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at hc.com.

  Books by Julie Eshbaugh

  Ivory and Bone

  Obsidian and Stars

  Crown of Oblivion

  Back Ad

  DISCOVER

  your next favorite read

  MEET

  new authors to love

  WIN

  free books

  SHARE

  infographics, playlists, quizzes, and more